


WonderTweek

by PaisleyWraith



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 00:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14659296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaisleyWraith/pseuds/PaisleyWraith
Summary: Two brawlers walk into a cafe and stop an Elemental....





	WonderTweek

He hated being out on the floor. Tweek preferred to work in the kitchen, away from eyes and with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Not in the middle of the room, in a half-assed costume trying to avoid people’s eyes. 

He prayed to every god he could think of that the people who walked through the door wouldn’t talk to him. Wouldn’t ask for more pictures. Wouldn’t ask for demonstrations. He spoke quickly, jerkily, in a practiced sentence he must have said in his life more than his own name. 

“Welcome to Tweek Bros., home of WonderTweek brand coffee.” He left off the four other sentences that were supposed to go with that opening statement. Some flowery poetic shit that made him too nauseous to even try. 

“You’re the elemental, right?” The random newcomer asked. Tweek twitched, gritting his teeth. 

“Yeah,” He wouldn’t look the person in the eyes. He didn’t even want to admit this much. He hesitantly glanced up at the guy, who had his hands in his jacket pockets and an easygoing grin on his face. 

“Soooo,” The boy was about his age, brown hair and blue eyes. “That’s cool. Went into public business instead of hitting the streets?” 

Tweek’s shoulder twitched as his heart rate picked up. “Npph,” He clamped his jaw shut to stop any noises from escaping his mouth. 

“Hey, I found him!” The boy was saying over his shoulder, to a tall newcomer that had slipped in the front door while tweek was trying not to have an aneurysm. 

What the fuck. Why was he being gawked at? He glared at the brunet and his taller friend both, the black-haired boy having one the ugliest bitchfaces he’d ever seen, scowling right back at Tweek. 

Found him. That’s all he was, a destination for tourists to ask questions and flock in gaggles around. Tweek was surprised he had any tooth enamel left, with how he had to keep grinding his molars to keep from snapping. 

“You’re the elemental?” The taller boy asked, nasally, annoying Tweek even more with how he sounded like he didn’t believe it. 

“He said so!” The boy with the red coat said cheerfully. “I’m Clyde. This is Craig. What’s your name?” 

Oh wow, let’s see. It was everywhere, including on his fucking name tag and stupid bags and tins of coffee created to sell to the masses that followed heroes like celebrities. 

This was so tiring. Humiliating. He was still standing by the entryway with both bows gawking at him, stupid kids able to do whatever they wanted and not be exploited by their parents so why show up here when you could go anywhere else in the fucking world and stop _staring at him_. 

“Take a wildFUCKINGguess,” Tweek’s words ran all together in his agitation. “I’m an elemental. My name is Tweek, I’ll set you on fucking FIRE if you want a demonstration nowgobuysomeshit or leavemealone!” 

Clyde withdrew in surprise, Craig narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his nose. He took a hand out of his pocket to discreetly flip him off, stalking out of the store with the bell jangling cheerfully behind him. 

Clyde fidgeted slightly and ducked out as well, leading Tweek with a room full of people who heard the patented Angelic Sweetheart of the brand swearing and his parents watching from the bar. His father looked disapproving. 

Tweek sighed, heavily. 

—

The problem with being the face of a brand was you had to act a certain way. The embarrassingly cherubic cartoon face on the items around him looked nothing like him, felt nothing like him. He was supposed to be a sweet, weak little darling who sold coffee in brands with lightning on the cover for high caffeine or fire and snowflakes for temperature directions and other kitch things that made him want to vomit. 

Too-yellow hair and adorable expressions he’d never made in his life stared back at a strawberry blond with bags under his eyes and crooked, yellow teeth. 

Tweek knew he was ugly. He was just under average height, though, and blond, and soft cheeked and stomached, and people said his eyes were cute: light blue, except for one eye where brown bled into half the iris. It kept him marketable, being kind of adorable. The kind of ugly adorable that made people buy troll dolls in the 80’s. 

The sweet, weak thing bugged him. He was supposed to be shy and sweet, a little hero scared to go into the street and preferring to stay and help mommy and daddy with the business. 

If these stupid fuckers only knew. 

Tweek hated everyone. Every person who walked through the door, every curious question and coo, the flirtatious suitors of all genders, the gaping crowds and skeptic assholes. He hated them. He hated this. He hated everything. 

The store was doing well enough that Tweek was banished from the kitchen unless no one was in the store. Otherwise he was made entertainer and waiter. He liked the moments where he could slip into the back, slide his mask up on his head, and cook quiches or dip cookies into colored icing. 

He was real good with piping, too. His handwriting was atrocious on paper if he didn’t concentrate, but somehow put an icing bag in his hand and it turned out beautiful. Maybe once upon a time he would have liked a baking career, but this whole fiasco ruined any bakeries for him, forever. He’d rather die than spend his life cooped up in one, left to trudge tiredly upstairs after every shift or scarf down breakfast and head in for another full day of work. 

Graduating his online high school was the worst experience of his life. He was in there from open to close now. 

He hated it. He hated everyone. 

This wasn’t him. 

—

Coffee. 

He finally had to be taken off the stuff itself because it was interfering with his powers, leaving him suffering during the Christmas season a few months later. Even his parents had been concerned over the outcome of him consuming, though not always for wellbeing reasons. Heroes were really starting to pick up now in popularity and Tweak’s was making a small fortune and Tweek kind of wanted to die. 

During the sickly sweet season, undergoing a horrible withdrawal once he was cut cold turkey, Tweek had lost it entirely. 

The nauseating smell of cinnamon and sugar clouded his lungs, it was all he could breathe and he had a headache. The heat from the oven wasn’t helping. He needed coffee, only he was pretty sure he was going to throw up if he drank anything on an empty stomach. Snow blazened on outside and he felt himself wistfully watching, wishing he could step outside in the cool, crisp air and just breathe. 

He cast a little spark of snow in the dining room, to the entertained ‘ahh!’s of customers, but it was for himself. Too hot. Too constrained. He was shaking, sweating and clammy in his stupid leotard-esque outfit and too-small gloves. 

He hated it. He hated everything. He hated everyone. He could understand now, how people became super villains. He had to restrain his powers on a daily basis, just not to hurt anyone. It would be so easy to slip. Unleash hell on someone who deserves it, after a lifetime of being treated like a trinket. 

So he had. 

“Tweek,” His father called calmly from the counter. “Why don’t you show our guests some of the lighting tricks you have?” 

Lightning tricks. In reality, it was like trying to light a birthday candle with a flamethrower. Without incinerating the rest of the party. 

Tweek was powerful. He knew he was powerful. Elemental were rare, and even when one did pop up, they typically only had one schtick. Electricity, earth, fire, water, ice, wind, etc. 

Tweek had them all. Better at some than others, but all. He held a secret pride in how good he was at keeping his lightning constrained, unable to hurt anyone. 

He leveled his eyes at the snow outside. And unleashed everything he kept inside. 

It was blurry, what happened after that. 

The electricity in the store blew out, purple sparks and flashes the only light in the pitch-dark room, patrons screaming and diving for cover. His parents shouting. Calling for him, in concern, sure, but concern too late. Too little. 

People leaving. Flying out the door. His parents leaving out the back. The smell of smoke, fire, and Tweek finally alone. All alone. Quiet. 

The fire crackled, and Tweek never moved. He watched the snow flutter down outside, smoke accumulating in blackened puffs around the store. 

Snow might be his favorite. It was soft, gentle, drifting down to the earth in beautiful predictability and assurance, quiet and peaceful and coating the ground in cold blankets. Softening the harsh edges of the planet. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Someone called, an ugly sort of voice that he recognized. His gaze flit from the snow to the boy in front of him, who was now dressed in a casual sweater and a mask. 

Wow, really? Tweek said nothing, lightning long since over, staring up at the boy with impartiality. Of course he was a hero. What a stupid disguise, though. Of course, he was always better at figuring this out than most other people, but still. Anyone could tell who he was. 

“Get out!” The boy ordered. “There’s fire, you fucking idiot, can’t you see it?” 

Tweek didn’t care. He didn’t care. He’d rather be here, alone, quiet, in the heat. Tired and humiliated and uncared for. A mockery. A brand. 

“Tweek!” Someone grabbed him. He hated being touched. 

Tweek wrenched his hand, bending it sideways enough to hurt. He didn’t bother using any elements. He didn’t care about hurting him. He just wanted to get his hands off him. 

Craig hissed, and for a second he thought the taller boy was going to kill him. 

He struck him, kicking him off him and, weirdly, immediately going back to grabbing his shoulder. Tweek sidestepped it. The taller boy looked exasperated, pulling his sweater over his nose and mouth as he looked around, sweating. 

“I’ll kick your ass once we’re outside,” Craig ordered. “Walk!” 

Tweek looked him in the eyes. Said nothing. Something in the other’s demeanor changed. His brows furrowed. 

“I can’t go out without you,” The boy said evenly. “So you better come on. I don’t want to die in a fire.” 

He wanted to call his bluff, he did. He felt tired enough to nearly pass out, and that...that sounded blissful. But the stupid boy wasn’t moving and what was Tweek anyway, but someone to please others. 

He followed Craig outside, the cold air freezing the sheen of sweat on his skin. He didn’t look up, just followed. Numbly. Dead. 

“You got him!” Another voice said, the Clyde kid, and another blue-clad moron looked relieved at him, ugly knitted hat not masking all his spiky hair. 

“Sit down,” Craig ordered, but Tweek’s gaze remained on the ground. Dirty slush under his feet, being melted by the fires. “Clyde, he’ll hit you.” 

“So hit me, then,” The boy said staunchly. “Tweek? Are you okay, man?” Too close in his space. “Oh my god he has brain damage, doesn’t he?” 

Everything was so quiet. His worn-out body even stopped shaking. This was nice. Tweek wanted to close his eyes. Forever. Savor this moment, the sluggish feelings that stopped him from being a freak, the surge of power that finally calmed some of the storms inside him. 

He realized he had more or less collapsed into a sitting position on the ground when Clyde gasped and Craig stooped beside him. Tweek’s gaze remained on the slush. 

“Hey,” If Craig wanted an answer, he was going to be disappointed. Tweek wasn’t going to talk. “Look at me, jackass.” 

Tweek did, with all the silent hate he had in his heart. Craig flushed, cheeks darkening to a bright red, but his words were even and never stuttered. 

“You don’t have to go back,” The taller boy said, crouched in the dirty snow next to the Elemental. “Look, no one is making you do anything. So if it sucks that much back there? Leave. If you’re over eighteen, what can they do?” 

He was two years older than that. Tweek swallowed, finding his throat dry and tongue swollen. He tried to lick his cracked lips, avoiding their gaze again. 

“Dude, you’re an Elemental!” Clyde piped up, sitting directly in the snow in front of Tweek. “Me and Craig and brawlers. Well, I’m kind of-“ 

Craig shot the guy a look and Clyde hastily reached his point. 

“No one can really tell you what to do,” He said, earnestly. “If you wanna come with us, you can. At least at first. We do all kinds of cool things! It’s fun out here, being heroes.” 

“Better than being in there, anyway,” Craig was looking at him. He could feel it. 

Tweek could hear the sirens approaching the building. The murmur of people. He didn’t care what happened from this point on. He just wanted out. 

“Maybe just tonight,” He mumbled, avoiding their gaze. His fingers were twitching, threatening to become a larger problem if he didn’t calm down. “I need...I need to think.” 

If they were brawlers and they turned it badly, Tweek could just kill them. He could manage. 

Anything was better than this. Better than being some kind of a centerpiece for people to gawk at and gossip about. 

—

**WONDERSTRIKE AND SUPERSTRIKE: NEW HERO COUPLE**

Tweek set down his mug of tea as Clyde slapped the newspaper onto the dining room table. 

“Are you kiddingme?!” Tweek reached for it before Craig, distress in every inch of his face as he flipped through the paper to the story. “WhattheFUCK!?” 

“What’s that?” Craig asked Clyde, rather than try and take the paper away from Tweek. “What are they talking about?” 

The boy looked a bit alarmed at their reactions. “Well shit, everyone knows who Tweek is,” Clyde stammered. “And he shows up and becomes part of our little group, he wears your colors and he even took your last name, Craig. Cmon, you got to admit it’s logical!” 

Tweek slammed the paper down, shaking in rage, as Craig gently took it from under his hands. 

True, a couple months after he left the store, he’d started hanging on the streets with the two brawlers. Craig had given him one of his sweaters, which was made of a surprisingly cool and airy material he couple place, and tweek wore fitting pants that made any acrobatics easy, his old boots and gloves. 

He didn’t bother with a mask. With powers like his, he was too recognizable to bother. 

He took Craig’s use of -Strike as a tribute to his electric powers, nothing more. Craig’s was about hitting and they had nothing to do with each other. 

Also, WonderStrike sounded way better than SuperStrike. 

“Why are they gossiping?!” Tweek jerked slightly as he reached for his tea again, long fingers trembling. “Don’t they have any better shit to do?!” 

Clyde helplessly shrugged, looking concerned with Tweek’s response. Craig looked impassive as normal, but Tweek could see the clench of his jaw. He was pissed. 

“It happens,” Clyde spoke up again, plopping down into the seat across from Tweek. “Mostly it’s usually about Mysterion, though, or anyone with real powers. No one thinks brawlers are as cool. That’s probably why we’ve never been in gossip pages before, I guess.” 

Tweek had to set down his mug before he sloshed tea all over the table. 

“It’s stupid,” he blurted angrily. 

“Yeah,” Clyde was sympathetic, though his tone held a major ‘but’ in it that made tweek glare. “I just said it was logical. If I didn’t know-”

“Well, you do know, so you can just fuck right off,” Craig snapped, throwing the paper into the kitchen bin. “Just forget it, Tweek. It’s fine. They’re just stupid.” 

With that, the taller boy stalked off, leaving Tweek and Clyde to stare after him. They looked at each other, Clyde in alarm and Tweek in reserved bewilderment. 

“I’m...what was that?” Clyde asked Tweek. 

The blond shrugged, jerkily, eyes on the doorway. “I don’t like it either,” He pointed out. 

“Yeah, but...” Clyde sighed, resting his chin in his hands. “Never mind.” 

—

Fighting was great. Tweek finally got to unleash some of his powers, some of what built up inside him for years that he wasn’t able to express. Sometimes they even had fights with brawlers, other elementals, weird people with gadgets or a niche power that were easy to take down. For today, though, it was the usual. 

They split up a robbery, catching the group of five in the parking lot in front of the jewelry store they’d robbed with weapons. Tweek worked range at first, keeping an eye on his companions. Making sure no one took a shot at them. 

He liked fighting. In less dangerous circumstances, he would fight like a brawler as well. Weapons, though, those bothered him. He couldn’t chance that Clyde and Craig could take them out without being hurt. 

He froze their feet to the asphalt, ice clawing up to their knees. Enough of a distraction for Clyde and Craig to grab a guy, and Tweek went after the rest. 

One took a shot at him, and found himself facing a bolt of lighting that ripped through his body and made him scream. His friends were freaking out as he ice crawled further up their bodies, threatening to encase them whole in frost. 

Tweek never killed anyone. But no one ever walked away without harm. 

Lots of times the villains would jeer. Try and taunt him, make him lose his concentration. Tweek didn’t care, didn’t let it distract him, everyone knew where he came from and he resigned himself to that. It was much better than actually living back there. 

What would fuck him up was his own self. 

He didn’t tremble much in battle. His adrenaline and anxiety finally given somewhere to go, as long as he was actively moving or attaching he was fine. Starting a job, he was a shaking mess. In the midst of battle, he was a titan and confident in his actions. Sometimes too much. 

Emotions could take over. He’d get angry and take it too far. His attacks would get sloppy, too much power and no precision. He could feel himself start to sway, become unraveled, and a hand slipped into his own. 

Tweek exhaled. The hand squeezed, gently, and his mind became less harried, less angry. Power flowed, taking a detour through the other person’s hands, flowing through their body like blood through veins, the crowding power in Tweek’s mind lessening enough to give him time to think, to direct. Power flooding back having been through another person’s heart. 

Wind, lightning, beautifully precise and elegant, a paintbrush stroke instead of a can of paint slapped on a canvas. The ground rumbled, the last two fell, and Craig squeezed Tweek’s hand a little tighter. 

He closed his eyes, savoring the peace. Feeling warmth through two pairs of gloves. A broader hand with shorter fingers, familiarity and assurance. 

Tweek let go before he got any weirder. Starting to think like that reminded him of his dad and that made him uncomfortable. He hated flowery things. 

“Nice job,” Craig praised, quietly enough that Tweek was the only person to hear. Clyde was whooping in victory around the two he felled, already chattering in about something neither of them were listening to. 

“Mnh. Good enough,” Tweek brushed off, trying to mask how pleased he was. 

Craig was trying not to smile. “Sure,” He said, and walked back to finally see what Clyde was talking about. 

Sure, it didn’t quell any of the rumors people had about them. But Tweek was finding it harder to care. 

—

Tweek walked into Craig’s room without invitation or permission, bristling so wildly that even his hair looked frizzier than normal. 

“What were you thinking?!” He snapped, watching Craig roll his eyes at him. “You could’ve beenkilled! Was it worth it?! Are you proud of yourself!?” 

“Shut up, Tweek,” Craig’s voice diverted from it’s usual even tone enough to sound annoyed. 

“Shut up nothing!” Tweek grabbed his pillow from under his head and whacked him with it. “What if I hadn’t been there? That guy would've fuckingkilledyou!” 

Craig glared at him, cheeks tinged pink, left arm bandaged up with burns they had to go to the hospital for. “I-”

“And don’t tell me you had it under control!” Tweek stormed. “You know better! Leave the elementals to me!” 

“I didn’t know he was an elemental,” Craig snapped back, face reddening. “You didn’t have to jump in like that.”

“It’s a good thing I did,” Tweek was still clawing his pillow in his hands. “JesusFUCKINGChrist, Craig! He tried to burn you alive!” 

The brawler looked away. Tweek was furious. He saw Craig go down, watched the guy not give him a chance, just step on his throat and unleash a blast of hell, and he’d lost his goddamn mind. 

It was the cafe all over again, over a year later. Only this time there had been no hopelessness, no distracted wishes for it to end. It had been rage, power, a protectiveness that burst through his lips without permission. 

_DON’T TOUCH MY CRAIG!_

That guy regretted it. He made sure he’d be hobbling to a hospital himself. He’d turned to Craig then, livid, and the guy was gaping up at him, awestruck and ignoring his injuries. 

Wide, green/grey eyes, parted lips, and Tweek realized once and for all that he was in too deep. He’d meant to leave this group after a night, and here he was. Clyde was off fighting with other friends and he and Craig, WonderStrike and SuperStrike, were the irreversible, intertwined, eternal duo. 

Now, Craig scowled, but the blush was still obvious on his face. 

_you saved my life,_ he’d never say, glaring up at the blond hovering over his bed. 

_and you saved mine,_ Tweek would never admit, mismatched eyes burning into the injured figure. 

“Get some goddamn rest,” Tweek shoved the pillow against Craig’s chest. “And tell me about your stupid reasoning when you have a better answer than that!” 

Craig’s lips twitched, making Tweek have to bite the inside of his cheek. 

“Whatever,” Craig said, too tired to even flick a middle finger in his direction. Whatever was a good enough verbal equivalent. 

Stupid, sweet boy. Tweek’s reliable and understanding partner. Who never brought up his parents because he knew he didn’t want to talk about it, but who also knew how and when to calm him if those days rose in his mind again out of nowhere. His partner in fights, grounding and fierce. His friend. His very, very good friend. 

Tweek growled. He leaned over, riding his anger and adrenaline the entire way. His lips brushed Craig’s forehead, just briefly, and he turned on his heel before he could see whatever expression the boy had. 

Besides, he could picture it anyway. A goofy sort of grin he only got sometimes, one that tweek might return if he didn’t think about it and stop himself. 

“Just let me know if your life reaches unbearable pain,” Tweek’s face felt hot. “Jackass.” 

“Thanks, Sweetheart,” Craig called after him, and Tweek hid his smile from the empty house.


End file.
